


You're Gonna Have Me As Your Man (Mr. Stilinski, Part Four)

by alisvolatpropiis



Series: Mr. Stilinski [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Derek, Comeplay, Consensual Underage Sex, Face-Fucking, High School Student Derek, Light Bondage, M/M, Marijuana, Older Stiles Stilinski, Rimming, Sheriff Stilinski Finds Out, Teacher Stiles, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Stiles Stilinski, brief Derek/Cam Lahey, brief jackson/derek, jealous ex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2760533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisvolatpropiis/pseuds/alisvolatpropiis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the unlocked back door didn't mean anything? What if Stiles was pissed at him, hated him even? He had every right to be after the way Derek had behaved. He thought about Stiles’ face that morning, deeply wounded even though he was trying so hard to not to show it. A hot spike of anger rose in his chest then, at Stiles for hiding his feelings, at himself for doing the same, at the stupid fucking universe for giving him the man he wanted to love forever when he was still in high school and for making that man his teacher.</p><p>He was still sitting there, drunk and anguished, when Stiles shuffled into the room, stopping when he saw Derek. His long, lean torso was still shining with water, towel low on his hips. He looked as wrecked as Derek felt, eyes tired and bleary, drunk.</p><p>He was beautiful, and Derek loved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Gonna Have Me As Your Man (Mr. Stilinski, Part Four)

**Author's Note:**

> Part 4 of 5, from Derek's POV.
> 
> Thank you for your patience as I worked on this! I really wanted to explore Derek's perspective in all this while also advancing the plot, and that took some doing! I hope you enjoy the feels and smut! Thank you for reading!!! xoxo
> 
> Title from ["When I Get My Hands On You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDUDx15KdkI), lyrics by Bob Dylan & performed by Marcus Mumford. (You should def listen because it's lovely and sweet Stereky. But then again, every song is Stereky when you're in this deep...)
> 
> **I didn't mark this as underage because in the real time of this fic, Derek is over 18, but there are flashbacks/mentions of his relationships with older men when he was underage.

Derek hadn’t recognized it as love, not at first. He had just thought it was attraction. Overwhelming attraction, the most intense he had ever felt, sure, but just physical. Or so he wanted to believe.

He had let himself fall in love once before and that ended in embarrassment and anger and waiting until he knew Jason was alone in the locker room before pulling Jackson in there, falling to his knees. He sucked him off good and loud, listening for the sounds of Jason angrily jerking off in the shower over the sounds of Jackson’s whiny moans, and it gave him a deep satisfaction that he didn’t recognize or fully understand but that was fucking intoxicating, the power of being wanted, thought about it and smiled darkly every day after when he saw Jason and his girlfriend holding hands.

Getting caught by Finstock wasn’t nearly as satisfying, and neither were the looks of disappointed embarrassment on his parents’ faces when he had to explain to them why he had been suspended for two weeks. It was nearly worth it though, when his mom had sighed, exasperated, _Derek, why can’t you have sex in your car after school like a normal teenager_ , the three of them breaking into awkward laughter.

At school, the incident had given him a brash, ballsy notoriety that he quickly learned to cultivate and use to his advantage, and by the time senior year rolled around Derek had pretty much the entire school half-scared, half-charmed into letting him do whatever he and his friends wanted. And of course, the ever-present threat of Talia Hale, the most intimidating and respected woman in town, helped as well, no one wanting to incur her anger by calling her only son out on his rebellious behavior. It wasn’t entirely fair, he knew, but he enjoyed the freedom it gave him way too much to care.

Jason had been his one and only serious boyfriend, but there had been lots of not-serious ones after him. Most of them had been a few years older, all of them wildly attractive. Derek had learned early that feelings and relationships were just asking to get hurt, but he also learned that he loved sex, that he craved being touched and touching, that he loved bending over and taking cock, that he delighted in using his mouth to bring a man to pieces. And, he learned that he had a talent for getting exactly what he wanted. He knew he was desirable and he relished the power it gave him, power men thought was theirs when they fucked him. He knew he had the power to make men want, and that power was far more exciting – and safer – than the brief, bittersweet betrayal that he had known as love.

Enter Mr. Stilinski.

Or rather, enter Derek into Mr. Stilinski’s classroom, where he found himself in the magnetic presence a man so beautiful and undeniably sexy that he had actually felt nervous, which he hadn’t felt in years, not since the first time Jason reached for his thigh when they were playing Skyrim, whispering, _I think I might be like you._

Derek had worked hard to ignore the fluttering in his chest that first day in class, setting his face into a neutral, assessing stare, secretly excited that he was going to get bask in the presence of this gorgeous man for the whole semester. He had guessed Mr. Stilinski’s age to be about twenty-six or twenty-seven. Isaac’s older brother Cam, who he had just ended things with when he told Derek he wanted more from him than just getting drunk and fucking, was twenty-two. What’s a few years older, he had thought.

He had been genuinely surprised when Mr. Stilinski told the class that he had graduated from BHHS “way back in 1999.” Okay, so thirty-three was a fair amount older than Derek had been with ( _that you know of_ , he had thought, remembering some anonymous encounters at Jungle and a couple concerts.) So Stiles looked younger than his age; he also had a youthful energy that was enlivening, intoxicating, his long mesmerizing fingers punctuating the space all around him as he spoke passionately about literature. Derek was captivated.

Age didn’t matter one bit, Derek decided as he watched him, and neither did the fact that he had no idea if Mr. Stilinski was single. He didn’t care. He wanted him, no matter what. He wondered briefly, too, listening to the deep, melodic timbre of his voice, if Mr. Stilinski was into guys, but he didn’t dwell on the question for too long. After all, he had helped more than one straight boy discover the delights of cock.

 _He’s your teacher_. The thought made him grin as he doodled in his notebook, trying not to stare too much, excited by the challenge, by how deliciously wrong it was. And then it all clicked: Stilinski, as in Sheriff Stilinski, his mom’s friend and colleague whose deputies had let him out of speeding tickets and marijuana possession charges on more than one occasion. Sheriff Stilinski, who last year told Jordan that he wouldn’t even consider his application to the department until he ended his relationship with “that underage boy.”

Derek had frowned then, looking back up at Mr. Stilinski, his back to the class as he scrawled across the chalkboard. He wondered if a sheriff’s son would be more or less likely to be a rule breaker while he appreciated the way his khakis hugged his cute little ass. Stiles turned around, quick, voice rising as he made a point, shifting Derek’s admiring gaze from his ass to his groin. It could have just been wishful thinking, the telltale, partially erect bulge he thought he saw there. _Hello, Mr. Stilinski,_ he had thought, smirking to himself, eyes still laser focused on his crotch. His mouth filled with saliva, thinking about tasting him, chewing at his pen, tapping it against the barbell in his tongue, imagining how good that hopefully big cock would feel in his mouth, filling up his throat, wondering what kind of noises Mr. Stilinski might make when Derek swallowed around his head, strong, practiced muscles milking his come. He shifted in his seat, dick hard as a rock, reaching down to not-so-subtly adjust himself.

It took a moment for him to realize that Mr. Stilinski had stopped speaking – that the room was silent, in fact, except for the snap of Erica’s gum and the click of Isaac’s pen. Derek tore his gaze from his bulge and scanned his eyes up his lean torso, fitted blue shirt making his ruddy skin glow prettily.

Or – _could it be_ – he was blushing? Mr. Stilinski was staring right back at him, mouth slightly open like he had frozen mid-sentence, obviously thrown off by Derek so openly ogling him. It was barely even a conscious choice, practically a reflex, for Derek to duck his head forward and look up at him through fluttering lashes ( _you could burn down empires with your eyes_ , Cam had told him once, reading from a book of poetry). Mr. Stilinski looked downright dazed for a second after that, sputtering to recover his lecture.

Derek was very, very familiar with what want looked like, and he could it see written all over Mr. Stilinski’s gorgeous face.

~*~

Derek had gone to Jungle for the first time when he was a junior, with Jordan, after they had gotten kicked out of prom (something about Jordan being too old, and possibly having to do with how incredibly stoned they were). He had been too fucked up to be nervous about getting carded, which he didn’t have to be, of course. Jordan had told him to take his dress shirt off but keep his skinny black tie on, had twisted their fingers together and winked at the bouncer and that was that. Two guys at the bar had sent over shots for him before Jordan was even done ordering him a drink, and soon Derek found himself in the middle of the throbbing, crowded dance floor. It was sweaty and hot, the music pulsing so loud it felt like it was part of the close, glittery air. He gave into it, body loose-limbed and wild, drunk and stoned, lost in the hot crush of masculine bodies, men grinding up against him, whispering filthy adoration in his ear. He had never felt more wanted, more free.

So he kept going back, on his own, sometimes just to dance, sometimes to hook up. It was exhilarating, liberating, letting his guard down for a little bit and giving in completely to the part of him that thrived on being desired. The only friend he told about his trips to Jungle was Boyd, who had always understood him better than anyone and who was good at keeping secrets. His dad worked nights too and he pretty much could come and go as he pleased, so he was able to help Derek get into town when he snuck out.

That first night with Mr. Stilinski, Derek had gone to Jungle looking for a hook up after talking himself out of calling Cam, who he knew would be eager to fuck him again, which is why he ultimately decided not to, not wanting to lead him on any more than he already had.

But he needed something, someone, was going crazy, sitting in Mr. Stilinski’s class everyday, trying to listen to him because he was smart and funny and a great teacher, but he kept getting so distracted by his hands, and his eyes, and those sweet beauty marks on his cheek. He would doodle in his notes and think about what he would say to him after class, what excuse he would conjure to linger at his desk. Derek was doing his best to flirt with him and he could tell he was getting under his skin, but he still hadn’t figured out how to make something actually happen.

So he had taken it as a sign that it was meant to be, that night when he opened his eyes, breathless from dancing, to see, at the bar, Mr. Stilinski, staring at him, mouth open. Derek had been bathing in the want of a crowd of eager men all night, but none of that could even come close to the pull of desire, of unabashed lust he saw in his gorgeous eyes, glitter catching in his lashes, that pull of want growing stronger as he walked closer to him, greedy hands of his many dance partners trailing across his skin as he left them behind, already forgotten.

~*~  
It wasn’t until after more than a month of sneaking around, of afternoons filled with teasing blowjobs and relentless, passionate fucking - there had been a sense, unspoken but felt by both of them, in those early days, that each time might be the last – that Derek realized he had fallen in love.

He was sitting in his car overlooking the lake, watching the almost-full moon bend and waver in the dark glassy surface, smoking a joint in harsh little puffs, replaying the fight over and over his head, hearing Stiles tell him that he should start dating other people. That he should start dating _Jackson_.

It made him cold, the way Stiles was so quick to suggest him dating as the solution to their problem, like the fact that Derek had, quite happily, been faithful to him since their first kiss, meant nothing to him.

It didn’t help that Derek didn’t really think there was much of a problem. So some people they didn’t know who had nothing better to do than pay attention to who he was fucking had noticed that he didn’t seem to be fucking anyone? Big deal. The way he saw it, it was a good thing – it meant they were doing a good job of keeping their relationship a secret, didn’t it?

But he didn’t get to explain that to Stiles, because the ice in his gut turned to anger and he had to get out of there, the room suddenly stifling hot.

_It’s not like I have a lot of options._

He had felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the world was blurring, falling away. He heard the desperation in Stiles’ voice when he begged him to stay, but he had to get away from him, burning up with the hurt, with the rejection.

Derek wasn’t stupid. He knew a relationship like theirs didn’t have much of a chance of lasting very long. It kept him awake sometimes, often during those nights when he told his parents he was at Boyd’s and spent the night in Stiles’ bed. He would watch him sleep and worry about the day that Stiles was going to come to his senses and realize what he was risking and put an end their relationship.

Or, the fear that really, truly ate at him: that Stiles would meet someone, someone his age who he could go on actual dates with and hold hands with and kiss in public and introduce to his dad as his boyfriend. Someone who didn’t have a curfew and whose mother couldn’t prosecute him, someone who wouldn’t cost Stiles his career.

Someone who could use the front door.

And the one thing that reassured him, the one thing that Derek was more sure of than anything, the one thing that was stronger than his doubts, was his belief in Stiles’ want for him. He saw it in his eyes every time they looked at each other, had felt it, bone deep, in his touch, in his kiss, in the way he fucked him like he was something to be treasured, even when he was rough.

Or so he thought. When Stiles implied that he was with him because he didn’t have any other options, that belief cracked, and it shook Derek, hard. He had walked to his car, eyes hot and breath coming in angry, short gasps. He drove, too fast, not wanting to go home but not sure where else to go, ending up at the lake on the opposite side of the preserve from his house, pissed at Stiles and even more upset with himself for caring so much.

He reclined the seat and closed his eyes, unable to stop the hot burn of tears that had been threatening since he stormed out of the house. The air in the Camaro was thick with smoke and he sucked it in deep, trying to calm down. His phone rang – Stiles again – so he turned it off. He knew if he talked to him he’d believe whatever he said and he’d go back.

And he couldn’t do that. Look at what was happening to him. He was falling apart, over a guy who was supposed to just be a casual fuck like the rest of them, a challenge to be conquered, the next in a fairly impressive line of sexual conquests.

Derek sat up and let his head fall against the steering wheel, tears spilling freely now.

He loved him. God, _he loved him_ , and it made him angry.

He rubbed his eyes and stubbed out the joint in the ashtray, tossed the roach out the window, and drove to Jackson’s house.

~*~

It took everything he had not to run after Stiles in the hallway the next time he saw him. To his credit, Stiles had done an admirable job of hiding his reaction when he saw Derek and Jackson together. Only someone who had been studying his face for months would have noticed. Only someone who was looking for it would have seen that his mouth was tense and strained, the light in his eyes dulled. Their eyes only met for a moment over Jackson’s head, and Derek was high, sure – he pretty much hadn’t been sober since their fight – but it felt like they were locked there in each others’ gaze for so much longer, the hurt echoing between them, drawing out the seconds. Derek stared after him as he walked past, watching him spill coffee all over himself, his steps jerky and tense, turning suddenly away from his classroom and down another hallway.

It wasn’t at all like the satisfaction he had felt at making Jason jealous. The dark pleasure at knowing that the boy who had hurt him still wanted him was nothing at all like the stabbing guilt he felt when he saw the look on Stiles’ face. The jealousy he had expected, had wanted; he wanted to throw Jackson in Stiles’ face, wanted to make him watch as if to say _this is what you wanted. Don’t you like it, Mr. Stilinski?_ And he did, and it fucking worked, spectacularly, because Stiles didn’t just look jealous, he looked devastated. And Derek did that to him. On purpose.

He stood there alone after the bell rang, fighting back tears. He wasn’t sure if he was waiting to see Stiles again or if he was just too upset to move, hating himself for his childish revenge. He finally came to his senses and realized that seeing Stiles like this, in the empty hallway when they were both upset – was just asking to get caught.

He stumbled to class, texting his friends, making plans for ditching last period to get fucked up so he could try and forget how much he loved Mr. Stilinski.

~*~  
It didn’t work.

Derek leaned against a wall in Jackson’s crowded kitchen, still stoned and nursing a warm beer and hating his whole life. Jackson’s parents were in Paris and he was having a party that Derek didn’t want to go to, like, _at all_ , but Erica and Boyd were on a date and Isaac was hanging out with Cam and Derek didn’t want to be alone so there he was, drinking shitty beer and listening to even shittier music in the Whittemore’s recently remodeled kitchen with a bunch of people he couldn’t fucking stand.

Including, _especially_ , the one grinding his dick into his thigh. Jackson wasn’t actually talking to him – he was babbling about some lacrosse bullshit with Mahealani and a couple other guys Derek didn’t know, but he was glued to Derek’s side, arm around his waist. He hated the way Jackson’s body felt against his, hated his cologne, expensive and cloying.

He hated him, because he wasn’t Stiles, and even though the weed and the booze numbed it all a bit, he couldn't stop seeing his face from this morning, and it still fucking _hurt._

Derek sipped his beer and glared around the room, totally out of place in his ripped jeans and thrashed Ride the Lightning t-shirt in the crowd of lacrosse players and their girlfriends, a sea of preppy shirts and lipgloss. More than a few of them were staring openly at him, at the way Jackson was attached to hip, at the hickies Derek left all over his neck to make Stiles jealous. People were whispering too, not bothering to hide their interest, and fuck, this is exactly what Stiles wanted and it’s exactly what Derek didn’t want because he didn’t care what people thought about him, didn’t want to be their entertainment anymore. He just wanted to be with Stiles.

Without a word, he turned and left the kitchen, Jackson calling after him, which he ignored. He stalked to a guest bedroom towards the back of the house, closing the door behind him and falling heavily to the bed, glaring down at his phone, trying to decide if he was going to call Stiles or delete his number.

Jackson stumbled in, bleary-eyed and grinning. Derek knew the look in his eye, didn’t stop him when he fell to his knees and began pawing at his jeans, drunkenly mumbling about his dick. Derek stared down at the clumsy hands on his crotch and considered letting Jackson suck him off, feeling hollow at the thought.

Mumbling excuses, he pushed Jackson away and left the party, knowing he was too fucked up to drive but did anyways, parking a couple blocks away from Stiles’ house and stumbling towards the bike path that ran next to his backyard, scraping his palm on the fence when he climbed over. He was terrified that the back door would be locked, but it wasn’t, and he let himself in like he had so many times before.

Derek heard the shower running and, in his state, decided that he needed to join Stiles, get his hands back on him, stripping as he walked up the stairs just to fall to Stiles’ bed in a confused, dizzy heap when he finally got to his room, staring at the half-open bathroom door.

What if the unlocked back door didn't mean anything? What if Stiles was pissed at him, hated him even? He had every right to be after the way Derek had behaved. He thought about Stiles’ face that morning, deeply wounded even though he was trying so hard to not to show it. A hot spike of anger rose in his chest then, at Stiles for hiding his feelings, at himself for doing the same, at the stupid fucking universe for giving him the man he wanted to love forever when he was still in high school and for making that man his teacher.

He was still sitting there, drunk and anguished, when Stiles shuffled into the room, stopping when he saw Derek. His long, lean torso was still shining with water, towel low on his hips. He looked as wrecked as Derek felt, eyes tired and bleary, drunk.

He was beautiful, and Derek loved him.

~*~  
Derek woke in the early morning hours after fucking Stiles for the first time, still utterly spent, exhausted, the taste of their combined come still in his mouth. He was on his back and Stiles was sleeping heavily, sprawled on his stomach pressed against him, one leg thrown over his, one arm across his chest. “I love you, Mr. Stilinski,” he whispered into the dark, lips ghosting in his hair.

He needed to say it to him at least once, just so he could hear it himself, so Stiles could too, even if he were asleep, just so he would know, even if it were only in his dreams.

~*~  
Three days before his eighteenth birthday, which he was practically counting down the minutes to, desperate for when he would no longer be such a liability to Stiles, Ms. Martin cornered Derek at the city council Christmas tree lot he was volunteering at with his parents.

Ms. Martin had been his math teacher for three years, and Laura’s too. Derek had felt incredibly weird about her knowing about them, even though Stiles had reassured him several times that she could be trusted, that they had been best friends since childhood and that she herself had some experience with what they were doing. He was still wary of the look she gave him when he carried her tree to her car after she finally finished chatting with his parents, Derek hovering awkwardly nearby the whole time, trying to act like he wasn’t listening.

When he was done tying the tree to the top of her car she pulled him over by the driver’s side door, out of view his parents and the other last minute tree shoppers. “Stiles asked me if you two could stay at my family’s beach house in Mendocino for New Year’s,” she said quietly.

Derek glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were far enough away from everyone. “Yeah, he told me. We're hoping to get out of town. I know it puts you in a weird position, we both feel weird about asking you, but, you know I’ll be eighteen in a few days, right? You wouldn’t be like…an accessory to anything.”

Ms. Martin laughed. “Oh my god. You’re starting to talk like him, do you realize that?”

Derek felt his cheeks warm despite the chill in the air, smiling and looking down, sheepish.

“I’m not concerned about that,” Ms. Martin – Lydia – went on, tossing her hair over her shoulder like the law was a minor concern. Derek had a sudden image of her facing off against his mother, and he shuddered internally. A battle of giants. “I’m concerned about my best friend.”

"What do you think is going to happen if we go to Mendocino?”

She rolled her eyes and leveled him with a glare. “It’s what’s already happening, Derek. Stiles is risking a lot to be with you. And not just his job. I don’t want my friend to get hurt.” She pointed a red-gloved finger at him, jabbing it into his sternum. “So you look me in the eye, _young man_ , and you tell me that you aren’t going to hurt him, that you’re not just fucking around because it’s dangerous and exciting, that you’re in this for keeps.” She stepped back and straightened up, composing herself. “And if I believe you, then you two can run away together and move into my beach house for all I care.”

Derek didn’t even have to think about what to say, met her unyielding gaze with his own. “I love him.”

Lydia smiled. “Okay,” she said softly, reaching the pocket of her coat. She paused before pulling her hand out. “You know you two are facing a lot of challenges. Are you sure this is what you want?”

“He’s what I want, no matter what.”

Lydia smiled and pulled her hand from her pocket, handing him a set of house keys. “Happy New Year, Derek.”

~*~  
Somehow, through careful lies and half-truths and sometimes pure luck, they made it through Derek’s senior year without getting caught. It helped that the semester ended in February and Derek was no longer in Stiles’ class. Derek also only had three required classes his last semester, and he started working part time at his usual summer job at Beacon Books. His limited presence in the halls of BHHS made things easier for both them, Stiles especially, who could finally go to work without feeling anxious, and, as he said, feeling less like a creeper.

It helped too, that since Derek was eighteen now and was hardly even a high school student any more, he was given even more freedom from his parents, who accepted long before that he was never going to be the overachieving valedictorian and class president that Laura was. It gave him more time to spend with Stiles, and although Derek still felt insecure about his age and the secrecy it required, it wasn't as bad as before, reassured as he was with the loving adoration he always saw in Stiles’ eyes, felt in his touch.

Derek kept up his imaginary college boyfriend ruse, often telling his friends and parents that he was going to Berkeley and then spending the weekend in Stiles’ bed. He deflected requests to meet the mystery guy through all manner of practiced evasion: explaining that his relationship with Dylan (a name Stiles came up with) was serious enough that they were exclusive but still casual enough that they weren’t really at the meet-the-parents stage; changing the subject and smiling, which always distracted people; even going so far as to promise Erica that Dylan was coming to visit, only to tell her “at the last minute” that he had to cancel due to a family emergency. He hated the lying, but he was willing to do it, for him. For them.

Right before graduation, though, it just got to be too much, his excuses too flimsy, so he fake broke up with his fake boyfriend, which allowed him an extended period of fake mourning that served the same purpose as the original lie. Stiles had agreed to Derek giving up the ruse, but they were still at odds about when to finally come out as a couple. Stiles wanted to wait until after Derek’s first semester at college, which Derek thought was completely absurd. He understood that they couldn’t tell people right away, since they were going to hold tight on tight to the lie that nothing had happened between them until after Derek graduated for the sake of Stiles’ job. But another six months of hiding and lying? He was going to go crazy, but Stiles insisted that that was the only way he could possibly not get fired.

They argued about it almost every day, usually good-naturedly, sometimes not. Once Derek got so frustrated he accused Stiles of being embarrassed of him, a low blow, he knew, but he couldn’t stop himself. Stiles, who had been on the verge of snapping back at him, stopped himself and had just stared at him, deflated.

“You know that’s not true,” he sighed heavily, voice thick and aching. “Do you know how much it kills me to have to hide how I feel about you? To treat you like a shameful secret? You deserve so much more than that, so much more than me.” And then he was crying, and was Derek too, and then they were clinging to each other, kissing their tears away.

They stopped talking about it after that.

~*~

A couple weeks after graduation, Derek is working on a slow Tuesday afternoon at Beacon Books, the cozy little bookstore in old town that he’s worked at since the summer after his sophomore year. The place is filled with massive oak shelves filled cheek-by-jowl with new and used books, and is almost as old as the town itself. It’s been a refuge for Derek over the years, a constant supply of his beloved books and the basis of his friendship with Marcus, the gruff Vietnam vet who’s the third-generation owner who lets Derek order whatever he wants and doesn’t care of Derek plays Black Sabbath in the store or show up stoned.

Derek spends the morning shelving new stock, and then the early afternoon behind the counter reading, looking up in surprise when the bell over the door finally announces a customer. Stiles is precariously balancing a cup of coffee on a small pink bakery box in one hand and bouquet of flowers in a mason jar in the other, grinning hugely. Derek puts his book down, marking the page with his half of the photo booth pics of he and Stiles from New Year’s, smiling back at him. “Is there anyone here,” Stiles asks, walking over to the counter and setting down the coffee and pastry box.

“I’ve been alone since I unlocked the door this morning,” Derek answers, taking the flowers, a tightly bunched bouquet of dark purple and pink-orange dahlias. He kisses him, sighing in contentment when he pulls back, looking him over. Stiles looks especially handsome in dark slacks, a fitted gray shirt, deep red silk tie, an outfit that has Lydia’s touch all over it. “What’s all this?”

“What, I need a reason to bring my boyfriend flowers and coffee? And those nutella cupcakes from Sweet Life. Your favorite.” Stiles holds up the box from the gourmet bakery that Derek loves and wiggles his eyebrows, leaning across the counter to kiss him again.

Derek’s heart flutters, as usual, when Stiles calls him his boyfriend. “Sweet Life? You were in Hill Valley?”

“I was. Had an interview at Hill Valley Community College.” Stiles is still grinning, buzzing with excitement, obviously dying to tell him more but trying to be teasing, coy. It's a good look on him.

“An interview?” Derek sips at his coffee, his own excitement growing.

“Indeed. You, young man, are now dating an assistant professor of English. I’m resigning from BHHS tomorrow.”

Derek stared at him wide-eyed, coffee forgotten. “You’re quitting your job?”

“For a better job. Pays more and I have to teach less.” Stiles shrugs. “I was talking to Lydia, and we figured the chances of me being able to keep my job at BHHS after people find out about us, even if they believe our story about waiting until after graduation, are pretty slim. So I decided to be proactive, quit before they can fire me. And, we can actually be us a hell of a lot sooner. I still don’t think we should tell people right away because it’s only been a few weeks since you graduated and – ”

Derek practically climbs on top of the counter in his rush, wrapping his hand around the expensive tie and pulling him forward into a bruising, thrilling kiss. “I love you,” he whispers, smiling. “Fuck, I love you so much. You didn’t have to do this. Are you sure? Are you sure this is what you want?”

“You’re what I want, always,” Stiles answers, kissing him back, the truth of it nearly knocking Derek flat.

“Come ‘ere,” Derek growls low, nearly overcome, needing him now. He pulls Stiles behind the counter and into the small, cluttered office, pushing the door closed behind them. “I like this tie,” he mumbles against Stiles’ lips, pulling on the silk.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles asks, cocky and teasing. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Derek has his hand down Stiles’ slacks and is just about to drop to his knees when the bell over the door rings it’s shrill chime muted through the door. “Of fucking course,” he groans into Stiles’ neck. “Stay here,” he orders, kissing him again quickly on the mouth before slipping out of the office, Stiles’ eyes glittering and mischievous as he watches him go.

Derek is still smiling, thumbing at his lower lip, when he steps behind the counter, stopping short when he finally looks up to see his customer. “Cam,” he says, unable to completely keep the dread from his voice. He eyes the jar of flowers next to the register and the box of cupcakes, trying to decide if they look suspicious.

“Derek, hey. Sorry to bother you at work, but you haven’t been answering my calls. Or my texts.”

 _Shit_. He had a feeling ignoring Cam’s attempts to get in contact with him again would lead to something like this, expecting it to happen at Isaac’s or at a party. Not when he’s at work, and definitely not when Stiles is just on the other side of the office door, surely able to hear every word.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy, graduation and all.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Isaac mentioned that you broke up with that college guy you were seeing.”

Behind the counter, where Cam can’t see, Derek squeezes his fists in frustration. This lying is driving him crazy. Thank god it’s going to be over soon. _Much sooner now_ , he thinks, trying to stop from smiling again at Stiles’ good news, and what he’s done for him, for them. “I’m fine, thank you. Focusing on getting ready to head to Berkeley at the end of the summer.”

“Isn’t that where he is? Will that be hard for you?”

“It’s a big campus. Why are you really here, Cam?”

“You know exactly why I’m here.”

Derek sighs, half-irritated, half-guilty. “Cam, things haven’t changed. I’m still not interested in a serious relationship.” _With you_ , he adds silently, refusing to lie to himself.

Cam huffs and glares, handsome features going harsh. “But you were with some random guy you met at a concert? What the fuck, Derek? We’ve known each other for years and all I’ve ever been is a cock for you to ride whenever you feel like it. You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s not fair,” Derek answers through gritted teeth, mortified that Stiles is hearing this, and not just because Cam’s trying to get him back, but because he’s right.

He thinks back to when he was awkward thirteen-year old hanging out at Isaac’s house, remembering the hot rush of excitement he always got when he saw his friend’s older brother. Cam was eighteen and preparing to join the Marine Corps and was always reading Homer and The Art of War and was handsome and smart and a little scary. He also seemed to be constantly lifting weights in the garage and strutting into the kitchen shirtless to stand in front of the open fridge gulping gatorade, chest gleaming with sweat. Derek couldn’t help but stare, face flushing even more when Cam would wink at him before sauntering away.

“Do you remember,” Cam asks, pulling Derek from his memory, leaning his muscled, tattooed forearms against the counter, “the first time we hooked up?”

“Come on, Cam. I’m sorry about how things turned out between us, but please don’t do this.”

He goes on like Derek hadn’t spoken. “I was home between deployments and Isaac convinced me to buy you guys beer.” Of course Derek remembers. He had felt an exhilarating satisfaction at finally hooking up with his very first crush, the boy who crystallized his realization that he was most definitely gay. He remembers being sixteen, walking into Isaac’s house and seeing Cam again for the first time in years. He was taller and bigger and just more, blonde hair shorn close, blue eyes darker, even wilder than he remembered, high cheekbones sculpted and severe. Cam had looked Derek up and down slowly, appreciatively. _Damn, Hale_ , he said when Isaac was out of hearing. _You sure grew up pretty, didn’t you?_

Cam’s attraction to him was an intoxicating rush of pride, and after that first time, they had sex every day until he left. They emailed occasionally while Cam was gone, and when he came back a year later Derek had just stopped sleeping with Jordan (well, there may have been some overlap. It took Jordan a few tries to stay away, despite the threat of Sheriff Stilinski’s wrath). They casually dated, fucking like crazy, for few months until Cam finally asked him what Derek knew he had been wanting to for awhile. _I want more with you, Derek. I always have._

“You waited until Isaac passed out,” Cam continues, eyes searching Derek’s face. Despite his insistence on doing this now, despite the fact that Stiles can hear every word of their conversation, Derek still feels bad for him. If Cam had gotten to him before Jason, things might have been different between them.

But he knows, with absolute certainty, even if they had, he still would have fallen in love with Mr. Stilinski, that his heart was Stiles’, no matter who or what or when.

Breaking up with Cam because he didn't want a relationship and then falling in love with someone else – even if Cam didn’t know about Stiles – made him feel guilty. Cam’s a good guy, and Derek hadn’t meant to hurt him. But it’s not like he can tell Cam that, or anything really, that would satisfy him. Derek sighs, letting his shoulders drop. Cam’s here because he had something to say, and he owes him at least the consideration of letting him say it. He can only hope Stiles will understand.

Cam leans closer across the counter. “And then you took off your shirt and started unbuttoning your pants. And you just looked at me with that fucking smile of yours, and you didn’t say a word. Just walked to my bedroom without looking back, because you knew I was going to follow you.”

Derek remembers. He could barely wait for Isaac to pass out on the couch, was thankful he was always such a lightweight because Cam had been watching him all day and Derek knew that look well, had learned all kinds of things that he wanted to show the older boy. “I think I fell in love with you right then and there,” Cam says, eyes midnight blue and imploring.

“I’m sorry, Cam,” he says quietly.

He sighs heavily, resigned. “Worth a shot, right?” He laughs bitterly, sad. “You’re always going to be worth a shot, Hale.”

Derek is saved from having to respond by the bell over the door, two of his most frequent customers, Tess and Natalie, freshmen girls who spend all of their babysitting money here, shuffling in with peals of laughter and yells of greeting for Derek. Cam gives him one last, longing look before turning on his heel and stalking out.

Derek waits until the girls disappear into the science fiction section at the back of the store before opening the office door and nodding for Stiles to come out. His tie is still askew and his cheeks are ruddy under the dash of moles that Derek wants to lick. Stiles walks around to the other side of the counter, trying to play the role of innocent customer.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Derek says softly, embarrassed. “Cam was never really one to take no for an answer when he wanted something.”

“He loves you,” Stiles says with a shrug that looks a little to casual to be sincere. “I can’t really begrudge him that, as much I want to kick his ass for making a move on my boyfriend.” He smiles, reaching for Derek’s hand.

Derek twists their fingers together. “No offense, babe, but he’d totally kick your ass. I’m pretty sure he knows a dozen ways to kill a man with his bare hands.”

Stiles laughs, mockingly indignant. “Yes, but I would fight nobly and honorably for your heart, fair maiden.”

A shriek of laughter from the back of the store keeps Derek from leaning over the counter and kissing the smirk off his perfect, pink mouth, but just barely. “You don’t have to fight for me.” he whispers. "I'm yours."

“I know,” Stiles whispers back, smiling.

Derek kisses him anyway.

“See you later,” Stiles murmurs into his lips, peeling Derek’s fingers off his tie and kissing them before walking out, winking at him.

~*~

Naked, the red silk tie hanging from his long fingers, Stiles crawls up the bed, up Derek’s naked body, brushing barely-there kisses up his torso, making his skin rise and shiver. “You’re mine,” he whispers, awed. Derek closes his eyes and nods, overwhelmed already and they’ve barely even begun. Stiles nibbles into his collarbone, hard enough to leave shallow little divots, before moving up to mouth at his neck, hips grinding slowly, brushing their hard cocks together in a slow, teasing embrace.

Tie still in hand, he pulls Derek’s arms above his head, pinning his hands together, wrapping and weaving the soft red silk around his wrists, looping the ends through the metal rails of the headboard. “You’re mine,” Stiles says again, low and growly this time, securing the knot around his wrists. “And soon everyone is going to know it.”

“Yours,” Derek pants, arching up, seeking Stiles’ mouth on his, heart racing, thrilled to be so utterly at his mercy. Stiles kisses him with sweet, filthy licks, sucking on the barbell in his tongue and his bottom lip before dragging his mouth back down his neck and nuzzling into his armpit, breathing deep and sighing with satisfaction. He tongues at his hair there, biting at him until he whimpers.

Stiles rests on his knees between Derek’s spread thighs, eyes raking up and down his body, sparkling and honeyed, narrow and possessive, and it makes Derek’s chest constrict, makes him pull against the tie around his wrists just so he could feel it tighten, anchoring him to Stiles’ bed. Stiles stops touching him then, just sits back on his heels and watches him for a long time, small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Finally, he reaches over to retrieve a bottle of lube from the nightstand, and Derek smiles and spreads his legs wider, rocking his hips up, presenting.

Stiles grins down at him. “Perfect little cockslut,” he murmurs, adoring. Derek bites his lip, dick twitching at the filthy endearment, watching Stiles slick up his hand. Instead of sliding those fingers into him though, Stiles wraps them around his own long, gorgeous cock, stroking steadily, eyes hooded as he stares down at him. “So beautiful. So perfect. Everyone wants you, but you’re mine.”

Derek starts to writhe more, pulling against his silken restraint, his cock arching up towards his belly button, hole fluttering, seeking, impatient. Stiles knows exactly what he’s doing to him, smirk growing filthier and more devious by the second, hand starting to move faster over his dick. “Yours,” Derek breathes again, spreading his legs wider. “Only yours.”

“That’s right, love,” Stiles pants, voice shaking like it always does when he’s close. He still hasn’t touched him, other than to brace himself, clutching at the inside of his thigh as he ruts into his hand. Derek’s cock is starting to drip with precome, aching to be touched, but Stiles is staring down at his twitching hole, licking his lips. He comes with a loud gasping groan, nails digging into the tender flesh of Derek’s leg, spilling hot and sticky across his ass.

Still breathing hard, Stiles runs his fingers through his mess, teasing around Derek’s rim until finally, fuck, finally, he slips a come-slick finger in, his hole seizing, grasping. He teases him slowly, pushing his come into him with deliberate, careful strokes, like he’s painting a masterpiece inside of him. Derek is a whining, writhing wreck as Stiles stretches him open, the heat of it simmering like embers ready to ignite, needing just the right spark. He’s desperate, needy, laid bare, the echoing, empty ache only barely sated by his those perfect fingers, needs so much more, needs him deep, filling him up. “Fuck, Stiles, come on,” he begs, bead of sweat running down his temple, stinging his eye. “Fuck me now, I need your cock, come on.”

Stiles keeps working his fingers in him, kneading at his prostate just enough to drive him to the edge but not let him fall, looking down at him with a stern look. When he speaks, it’s in what Derek teasingly likes to call his Serious Teacher voice, although there’s a bit of breathlessness to it that was never there in the classroom. “Now Derek, is that how we ask for things?”

Fuck, he nearly comes right then and there, jerking his hips up and flexing his arms hard enough to make the headboard groan under the pressure of his bind as he pulls against it. His cock, the head a dark angry red, dribbles a thick drop of precome onto his stomach, shining there along with the little spots of sweat pooling in the ridges between his abs. “Mr. Stilinski,” he whines. “Please.”

Stiles smiles and pulls his fingers from him, looking down, watching how he flutters and gapes at the loss. “That's a good boy,” he praises, leaning over to kiss him before lifting Derek’s legs and pushing them back, nearly folding him in half, planting a knee on either side of his ass and settle Derek's calves on his shoulders. Derek feels exposed and raw, teetering on the edge of utter destruction. Stiles still has that hard-edged look of possession in his eyes, hovering over him like he wants to cover him completely, drench Derek in nothing but him, eat up him so he’ll be his forever.

His orgasm starts to crest almost as soon as Stiles finally, mercifully, pushes into him, hips working fast, long strong fingers clenching tight around his calves. Finally full, Stiles’ devastating cock rocking into him deep and wide, crying out between gasping breaths, Derek comes untouched, striping his chest with hot ribbons, pulsing waves of heat rolling through him as Stiles fucks him through it, smiling down at him.

Without breaking his steady, relentless pace, Stiles reaches down to scoop up his mess from his sweat-slick torso, bringing his hand to his mouth and licking wide and sloppy, eyes rolling back in delight. “You taste so good, Derek, fuck, feel so good,” he pants, voice rising. Derek smiles, recognizing the familiar beginnings of one of his filthy, praising rants. Derek shifts as best he can with his hands still bound, rolling his hips up to pull him in deeper, clenching tightly. “My sweet tight hole,” Stiles grunts, hot beads of sweat dropping from his hair on to Derek’s face. “Perfect ass, all mine, always all mine.” He fucks him harder, the bed knocking loudly against the wall, Derek’s feet bouncing around Stiles’ shoulders. “Forever, you got that, Derek? You’re mine forever.”

Derek nods hard, feeling feverish with the warmth that blossoms in his chest. Stiles falls forward then, letting Derek’s legs fall to the side so he can press close, kissing him roughly, the taste of Derek’s come on his lips, hips losing their steady rhythm in his haste. Still kissing him, his fingers work at the tie until Derek’s hands are free from the headboard but still bound, letting him drop his tired shoulders and circle his arms around his back.

Derek is hard again, cock sliding in what’s left of his mess from his first orgasm between their bellies as Stiles ruts harder, rolling his entire body in strong, graceful undulations that shake Derek from the inside out, make him feel like he’s falling apart and being put back together all at once.

Stiles grinds down hard, burying himself as deep as he possibly can, pouring into him. He collapses on top of him, heaving, shuddering for a few moments before rising up on shaky arms, watching Derek’s eyes closely as he pulls out. Derek whines and twitches at the emptiness as Stiles kisses down his chest, licking up his sweat and suckling his nipples before moving down to take his cock in his mouth, fingers teasing at his puffy, sensitive hole before pushing his come back into him, scissoring them in the sloppy mess. Derek twists his bound hands in Stiles’ sweaty hair when he comes again, Stiles’ mouth working eagerly around him, smiling as Derek spills down his squeezing throat.

~*~  
Stiles unties his hands and hangs the sweat-stained tie around his own neck and rolls Derek over, insisting on massaging his shoulders. “I meant it, you know,” Derek says when he’s lying on his stomach, Stiles straddling him, soft cock resting across the curve of his ass.

“Hmm,” Stiles asks, sleepy as his warm, strong hands work the taut muscles of his back.

“I meant it. When you said forever and I agreed. I meant it.”

Stiles stretches out on top of him, pressing a long, hard kiss between his shoulder blades, long lashes fluttering across his skin. “Me too, love.”

~*~  
A few days later after a long run through the preserve, Derek walks into his bedroom to find Laura, who’s home for the summer, sitting cross-legged on his bed reading a book.

“Hey,” he calls, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt and looking around for his phone. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing, baby bro.” Derek looks more closely at her then, sees that she’s reading his tattered old copy of _Hitchhiker’s Guide_. No, not reading. She has the book open in her lap to the page Derek has marked with the photos of he and Stiles, the top edged frayed where the strip had been ripped in two.

Laura is studying the pics, the two black and white squares the only evidence of their relationship, photos he insisted on because he wanted something physical to hold on to, to remind him that they were real when the lies about being nothing to each other got to be too much. “You’re sleeping with your teacher, Derek.” It’s part question, part accusation, all shock.

“Laura, please you can’t tell anyone. I’m going to tell mom and dad soon, okay, but they have to hear it from me.”

“Holy fucking shit, Der! You’re actually doing this.” Her eyes go huge in surprise as she gapes at him. “I knew you were reckless, but this is a whole new level of stupid.”

“Laura, it’s not like you think. Please, let me explain,” he says as evenly as he can, barely controlling his rising panic. He sat next to her on his bed. “But first, please, you have to promise me that you won’t tell anyone.”

“I need to know what secrets I’m promising to keep, Der.” She’s recovered from her surprise and is assessing him with her cool, take-no-shit stare. He knows he’s going to be able to lie to her, never can. She’s only one – other than Stiles – who can always tell when he’s lying. “Tell me everything, baby bro,” she says, and so Derek does.

~*~

“And he didn’t coerce you, or manipulate in any way into sleeping with him?” Laura asks, _again_.

“Jesus, Lo, for the millionth time, no. I started it. I initiated everything. Stiles is not that kind of guy, okay?”

“It’s my job to look out for you, asshole.” She stares at him in silence for a long minute. “I can’t believe we had Thanksgiving dinner your teacher who you were fucking.”

“We hadn’t fucked yet then,” Derek explains, smiling despite himself. “Later that night, though….”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

“Are you going to tell mom and dad?”

“You’re going to tell them soon? Before you leave for Berkeley?”

“Yeah. We’re tired of hiding.”

“And you – Derek Hale, slayer of hearts and local sex legend – are perfectly okay with going to college with a serious, much older boyfriend?”

“I love him,” he says simply. “And I’ve had more than enough casual sex to know what I’ll be missing in college. Believe me, I’m trading up.”

“Wow, you’re the worst.” She sighs and looks down at the photos she’s still holding, the two of them laughing at the camera in one, Derek kissing Stiles’ temple in the other. “You look really happy with him,” she muses quietly, handing him the photos.

“I love him,” he says again, will always say.

~*~  
The look on his mother’s face when he tells his parents is remarkably like Laura’s: a stunned confusion that’s mirrored on his dad’s, the two of them sitting side-by-side at the kitchen table across from him. As they stare at him in shocked silence, Derek thinks ruefully that he and Stiles should be proud of themselves for keeping their secret so well.

Stiles, who at this moment, is at his father’s house, having this same conversation.

Derek is leaving for Berkeley in two weeks; it’s been almost three months since he graduated, and he finally told his parents that he’s dating his former English teacher, feeling infinitely lighter at finally telling the truth, even if it's only halfway. “Since the week after graduation,” he says, hoping to god this lie would work too. “Aren’t you going to say anything,” he asks finally, the silence unbearable.

His dad clears his throat and runs a hand through his beard like he always does when he’s choosing his words carefully. “Well, son, you’ve caught us by surprise. You just told us you’re in a serious relationship with your teacher.” He doesn’t sound angry, just like he’s still processing the information.

“Former teacher,” Derek is quick to remind him. “And, um, Stiles took a job at HVCC, so, not even a high school teacher any more.”

“Talia,” his dad says looking over to her, eyebrows high. “Your thoughts?”

His mom’s gaze narrows a bit, recovers from her surprise, studying him carefully with that discerning look that makes her so feared. “He’s in his thirties, Derek,” she says evenly.

“Just turned thirty-four,” he clarifies, probably not that helpfully. He takes a deep breath, the words pouring out of him, a little desperate, because he needs them to understand. “I know I’m young, but I’m not that much younger than you two were when you met and you talk all the time about how grandma didn’t want you to marry dad because he was poor and you didn’t care because you were in love. So you know how I feel. I know Stiles and I might not make sense to a lot of people, but we make sense to us. We make each other happy, and I’m going to keep seeing him no matter what. I’d like to do that with your blessing, but I love him and nothing is going to stop me from being with him. Even you guys. You can kick me out, cut me off, I don’t care –”

“Derek, sweetie, relax,” his mom smiles still a little tense, but sincere, squeezing his hand. “We’re not going to cut you off or kick you out.” She sighs and looks over at his dad, and they have one of those wordless, eyes-only parent conversations for a long time.

Finally, his dad sighs and smiles at her, shrugging. “He may look like me, but he’s all you.” Derek smiles tentatively. It isn’t the first time his dad had expressed the same sentiment, usually when Derek is arguing or getting in trouble for something.

His mom looks back to him. “We’ve given you a lot of freedom, Derek. Because you’ve always been mature for your age and because we trust you. And because you’re so goddamn stubborn we know you’re just going to do what you want any ways,” she adds wryly, knowing full well where he gets his stubbornness.

“Do you trust me now? Do you trust that he makes me happy and that this is what I want?”

Leaning back and reaching for his dad’s hand, she looks at him, face gentle. “Derek, we know how much everything that happened with Jason hurt you. We know you avoided having a real boyfriend because of it.”

He looks down, sheepish. He had told his parents what happened with Jason – cried on both their shoulders about it – but he had never expressed to them his once-firm commitment to never letting himself develop feelings for anyone. But of course they knew.

“So we know it means for you to say that you love him,” his mom goes on. “We can’t say that we don’t have our reservations about this, but we trust you to know what you want.”

Derek sighs in relief, struck with the urge to hug both of them. He had always know he was lucky – blessed, really, to have such understanding, pragmatic, incredibly loving and supportive parents. Erica’s mom is usually too busy with her latest boyfriend and scoring pain meds to give a damn about anything, and her dad thinks a credit card and an occasional visit to San Francisco makes him father of the year. Boyd’s dad is loving and kind but has to work two jobs to make ends meet and is hardly ever around. And Derek was once intimately familiar with the bruises Cam often had after defending Isaac from their asshole father.

So he’s always known how great his parents are. But this – their acceptance of his relationship with Stiles – fills him with a new, heart-wrenching gratitude. And so what if it their acceptance is based on a half-truth. He told them the only truth that mattered. He loves Stiles.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, wiping away tears.

His dad reaches over and claps him on the shoulder. “We love you, son.” He stands with a small sigh, moving to stand behind mom, rubbing her shoulders. “You better bring him over for dinner soon. I finally get to do the scary dad meets the boyfriend routine,” he grins wickedly, but it’s his mom’s evil laugh that really makes Derek worry for Stiles.

“Kidding of course,” his dad laughs, when he sees how big Derek’s get. He breathes a heavy sigh of relief and gets up from the table and hugging them before heading out.

“We’re not kidding about dinner,” his dad calls after him. “Bring Stiles on Sunday, okay?”

~*~  
Stiles is sitting on his couch, shoulders tense and gulping whiskey when Derek comes in the back door. It occurs to him belatedly that, now that they've both told their parents, he no longer has to come in the back door. No more parking blocks away and hopping the fence. It’s ridiculous, how happy it makes him to realize that he can park in the driveway now.

But his happiness is tempered by the look of frustration and anger on Stiles’ face. “How’d it go for you?” he asks before Derek can ask him the same.

It’s obvious that things didn’t go well with the sheriff. At first, Derek feels bad sharing how well his parents took the news, but then he remembers that Stiles had been just as worried about their reaction as his own father’s. “It actually went really well,” he tells him, joining him on the couch and reaching for the box of joints he left on the coffee table. He lights one and hands it to Stiles, taking the half-full glass from him. Stiles always has headaches after drinking too much whiskey. “You’re actually invited over for dinner on Sunday.”

Stiles chokes on a thick cloud of smoke. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“I am not. You might even make it out alive,” he smiles, darting forward to kiss his cheek. “I mean it, though,” he reassures him. “I think they’re a little freaked, but they were really cool about it. And they seem to believe that we didn't get together until after I graduated.” He grabs the joint from him and takes a long pull, breathing in deep and tugging Stiles’ chin toward him, kissing him slowly, exhaling sweet smoke into his pink mouth. “They seem to realize how stupidly happy you make me.”

“I wish I could say the same for the sheriff,” Stiles mumbles darkly, falling heavily against the back of the couch.

“What happened?”

“He said he was disappointed in me,” Stiles grumbles, sounding very much like the teenager in the relationship. “Said I was being an idiot, ruining my career and your life. Said that you’re parents were going to be livid, so hey, I’m pretty happy I get to shove that one in his face.” Stiles ruefully puffs on the joint, watching Derek, one hand rubbing circles on his thigh, pausing for a moment before continuing. “He brought up Lucas, again. Suggested that I go see him, even. Can you fucking believe that shit? I think he’s still mad at me for breaking up with Lucas, and for using his injury and moving back here as an excuse. He fucking adored Lucas.”

Stiles rolls his eyes in disgust, but Derek still can’t stop the quick stab of jealousy he feels. It’s bad enough that Stiles had been able to enjoy all of the real relationship benefits with Lucas that he couldn’t with him. But from everything Stiles had told him, his ex was made for parents to adore. He had told him that after all the skaters, musicians, and occasional drug dealers he had dated over the years, his dad loved Lucas so much Stiles used to teasingly suggest that he marry him himself.

So yeah, it’s bad enough that Derek is causing a rift between Stiles and his father. The fact that the sheriff thinks Stiles is better of with his perfect ex is salt in the wound.

“Anyways,” Stiles shrugs. “We argued and I stormed out.”

“I’m really sorry,” Derek says softly. “You shouldn’t be fighting with your dad because of me.”

“Hey.” Stiles pulls him closer and plants a hard kiss on his forehead. “I love you. You’re worth a little strife with my dad. He’ll come around. We just have to put up with him being a jerk about it for a while. Doesn’t change anything between us.”

“You shouldn’t call your dad a jerk.”

“He said I was being melodramatic when I told him you were the love of my life. He’s being a jerk.”

Derek’s whole body goes warm, jealousy and worry all but forgotten, drowned out by the hot rush of happiness. “Love of your life,” he whispers, smiling big.

“Well, yeah,” Stiles smiles back, pulling him against his chest. “I thought we covered this?”

“I guess I just like hearing it.”

“Well then I'll keep saying it.”

“Good.”

“I got you something.” Stiles squirms under him, tossing the roach in the whiskey glass before digging a hand into his pocket. “Because we’re officially out now,” he says with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a sheepish grin, placing the shiny new key in Derek’s palm. “For the front door.”

~*~  
Stiles looks down at him, sweeping his thumbs across his cheeks, reverent. “So beautiful, my love.” Derek can barely hear his whisper, like he’s saying it just for himself.

“Get your ass up here, Mr. Stilinski,” he orders, slapping him playfully on the thigh and settling back against a throw pillow, stretching out underneath him on the couch, both of them stoned and naked. Derek grins and sticks his tongue out, tapping the piercing against his lip.

“God I love you,” Stiles laughs, breathy and light, eyes a little bleary and red, gentle and soft. He climbs over him, resting a knee on either side of his head, smiling and groaning when Derek darts up to take his balls into his mouth, sucking lightly. Derek’s eyes rolls back at the familiar taste of him, body lighting up in anticipation. Stiles rocks his hips so his cock, flushed red and pretty, rubs across Derek’s face, hot skin velvety soft against his short stubble. Derek licks up his shaft to tease his head the way he know he loves, flicking the barbell softly across his slit, sticky with precome, bittersweet, mouthwatering.

Stiles moans likes he was dying and loving every second of it when he uses his thumbs at the corner of his mouth to it open more and feed him his cock, Derek’s lips stretching wide and easy around him, Stiles’ hips rolling in hard little spasms. He’s pulling at Derek’s hair, long enough now for him to twist his fingers into, muttering breathy exclamations of pleasure and praise. Derek makes plenty of noises of his own, grunting and humming around Stiles’ cock, eyes rolling back and swallowing hard.

He grips Stiles’ ass, pert little globes that fit perfectly into his palms, helps him fuck his throat until his eyes are watering, eventually rocking him back until he slips out of his mouth with a wet pop. Both gasping, Derek pulls him forward until his tight, pink hole is spread over his mouth, holding him up so he can tease at his rim, licking soft circles with the tip of his tongue at first, then with the barbell, flicking and rolling until Stiles is begging for more.

Derek nearly comes at the sound Stiles makes when he finally presses his tongue all the way in, letting Stiles settle on his face, his cock, still slick with his saliva, sliding across his face. Derek tongue-fucks up into him while Stiles rolls his hips, faster and faster, riding his face with tender abandon. Derek is panting, his own hips rocking up, his own hole clenching, seeking its fill, body dense with simmering heat and drowning in the taste of him. He wants Stiles to come like this, god, he can come like this, untouched, just from lying back letting Stiles rut and ride his face, but he wants Stiles to fuck him, so he pulls off, panting, his cock streaking precome across Derek’s cheek.

Stiles scoots down his body to kiss him, licking softly into his mouth to taste himself there, before rolling off and reaching for the bottle of lube on the coffee table. Derek throws a leg over the back of the couch and Stiles gets him open and wet quickly, mumbling stoned appreciation for his abs and his biceps and his teeth, of all things, this ridiculous beautiful man, the love of his life.

“Can I ride you,” Derek asks, stroking himself idly.

Stiles grins and nods, moves to lean against the back of the couch. Derek follows, straddling him with his back to his chest, lowering himself onto Stiles’ lap, letting his slick cock just slide between his cheeks at first, rolling his hips, looking over his shoulder to see the look of hunger on Stiles’ face, to watch him bite at his lower lip. “You’re a fucking treasure, you know that,” Stiles whispers, hands strong and reverent on his ass, clutching and spreading. Derek preens, loving the deep thrill of pleasure Stiles’ praise gives him, the raw emotion in his voice that tells him he truly means it.

He leans forward to give Stiles a better view as he lowers himself, strong thighs flexing. He wants Stiles to watch how he stretches around him, wants him to see how he opens for him, wants to give Stiles the satisfaction of watching his cock disappear into him. “Fuck, Der, baby,” he pants, breathe hot on Derek’s back. “You’re so good, so perfect, so hot and tight, god, you were made to be fucked, made for my cock.” He pets his back and squeezes his hips as Derek sinks the rest of the way down, crying out and throwing his head back when the curve of his ass is cradled in the hollows of Stiles’ hips. Stiles wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him back, pressing kisses along his spine between shuddering moans. He twists around to kiss him, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck. Stiles’ mouth falls to nuzzle in his armpit, biting and licking, and Derek basks the wet warmth of his mouth, the full-to-bursting feel of his cock buried so deep inside of him, finally making him feel full.

Derek leans forward and rests his hands on the edge of the coffee table, using it for leverage to fuck himself, rolling his hips hard and slow, clenching tight around him, grinning when Stiles whines and curses, cupping and rubbing his ass, muttering filthy adoration. Derek rides him harder, faster, snapping his hips in rigid thrusts, ass bouncing in Stiles’ lap. Stiles spanks him lightly a couple times, just playful little slaps, spurring him on, so Derek rides him harder, knuckles going white as he grips the table, head falling between his shoulders.

Just as he’s about to come, Stiles stills him with firm hands on his hips, holding him tight, slowing his rutting. Derek hears a low, pleading whine, isn’t at all surprised when he realizes it’s was coming from him. “Please, Stiles, please, let me come.” His hands are slick with sweat on the edge of the table, his breath coming in short gasps, voice small and needy.

“Shh, love, not yet.” Stiles runs a gentling hand up and down his back before delving his fingers around Derek’s stretched, wet rim. “You’re so good, my cockslut, my perfect, sweet hole. Think you can take more?”

Derek nods, cock leaking in response to the needy timbre of Stiles’ voice, at the firm press of his long, strong fingers against where they're joined, aching for breath as Stiles pulls his hands away for a moment to slick more lube across his fingers.

It’s a new, hot flush of powerful pleasure when Stiles slips a finger in alongside his cock, cooing his appreciation for how easily Derek takes it, so easily Stiles pushes it all the way to the last knuckle, sliding it back and forth along his dick, groaning, stretching him more and slipping in a second finger, moving them in and out faster and faster, thrusting up again, fucking him with his cock and his hand, relentless.

“Holy fucking fuck,” Derek mewls, hips rocking reflexively, nearly shattering from how split and full he feels, orgasm bursting forth and overtaking him in a shuddering blaze, heat coiling and sparking, spilling all over the coffee table. His aching groan matchES Stiles’, who comes when Derek clenches hard, spurting inside of him.

Arms shaking, whole body quivering really, Derek pushes back from the table and collapses against Stiles’ sweaty chest, the movement pushing Stiles’ fingers free along with a gush of his come. Stiles’ arms are solid and strong against his stomach, clutching him close, sighing happily, mumbling something that gets lost in the kiss he’s pressing into his back.

“Huh,” Derek grunts, eyes flitting closed, body heavy and dense, twisting his fingers with Stiles’, slick with come and lube.

“Love of my life,” Stiles repeats, smiling into his skin.  
~*~

The next morning they sleep in and make slow, giggling love, and then blow each other in the shower, before going out to Stiles’ favorite diner for breakfast, both giddy with nerves and excitement for their first time in public together in Beacon Hills.

Their waitress, who knows Stiles by name and asks after his father, which makes him grimace before answering vaguely, raises her eyebrows at Derek a bit but doesn't comment. They can’t stop staring at each other and smiling, and, as delightful as it is, it’s a fairly anticlimactic meal.

When they walk out the door, hand in hand, they nearly run right smack into Jordan. He’s in uniform, which still throws Derek for a loop, so accustomed to seeing him in ripped jeans and tank tops and nothing at all. He squeezes his hand tighter as Jordan pauses to take them in, recovering quickly.

“Derek, hey. Stiles. So you’re dad was right? You guys really are dating. Wow.”

“He told you?” Stiles asks, surprised, eyes darting over to Derek’s.

“Well, kinda.” Jordan looks down, a little sheepish. “I had to guess, but yeah. He came by the station last night and started asking me about you, Derek. About, uh, our relationship.”

“What did you tell him?” Derek can feel Stiles growing more and more tense, rubs his thumb over the back of his hand to soothe him.

Jordan shrugs. “The truth. That we dated casually.” Jordan smiles shyly, both of them knowing damn well that _dating_ is a generous word for their relationship. Their one and only date had been to his junior prom, and that was just because Erica and Boyd wanted to go and Derek didn’t want to be a third wheel, so he called up his favorite fuck buddy.

“And that we split amicably when I decided to join the department. I told him you’re a good guy.” Jordan looks over at Stiles. “And I told him that you’re a lucky man.”

“You did?” Stiles is incredulous.

“I did. Like I said, I told him the truth. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear,” he adds, grimacing slightly.

“Thanks, Jordan,” Derek says, patting him on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, me too,” Stiles says, still a little rattled.

Jordan nods and smiles, genuine and kind as ever, looking between them. “This is the real deal, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” they say in unison, grinning.

“That’s…unexpected. But okay, I’m happy for you guys. I’m sure the sheriff will be for you too, once he gets over his surprise.” He glances down at his watch. “Hey, I know this is awkward, but, uh, Cam is meeting me here soon, and, uh…” he drifts off, eyes darting toward Stiles. Derek’s eyebrows go up to hear about Cam and Jordan, but it actually makes sense when he thinks about it, and he’s happy for them both.

“Right, we’ll clear out.” Stiles looks a little pale, but he’s smiling. “Thanks again, deputy.”

They walk back to the Jeep hand in hand, and when Stiles goes to open his door for him, Derek pulls him by the shirt and stares hard into his eyes. “I love you, Stiles,” he says with a smile, yanking him into a kiss, hard and sure, in full view of everyone in the parking lot, in the diner, in the coffee shop next door and the florist's next to that, in front of the whole goddamned town.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [deleted-scenes](http://deleted-scenes.tumblr.com/) on the Tumbles! Come hang out and witness my meltdowns over Tyler Hoechlin's hair.


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